


The Healer

by CaptainLordAuditor



Series: No Wealth, No Ruin [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Date Rape, Drugs, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Gaslighting, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mentions of addiction, Mentions of alcoholism, Physical Abuse, Rivalmance, Slavery, Slurs, Trans Character, Trans Fenris, Transmasculine Character, both real and fictional, briefly but we'll see more of her i promise!, domestic abuse, evil!hawke - Freeform, fictional racial slurs, just. asshole hawke. hawke being an asshole, not the fun kind, past rival fenhawke, rival handers, that would mean, transgender character, transris, warden mahariel - Freeform, warnings fucking galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLordAuditor/pseuds/CaptainLordAuditor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Partly inspired by some prompts, partly me getting off my ass to write about my OCs.<br/>Hawke roofies Fenris, but when Anders intervenes, she decides to pay her full attentions onto the mage instead.<br/>Please, please, please mind the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Healer

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags!

_I paced around for hours on empty_  
_I jumped at the slightest of sounds_  
_And I couldn't stand the person inside me_  
_I turned all the mirrors around_

_-Halsey, "Control"_

Something isn't right. Sure, Fenris gets drunk often, but not this quickly. It takes him awhile....not that Anders pays attention to that. He's the only sober one there and he's really not fond of the way Hawke is looking at Fenris.

Not that he normally pays much attention to that, but today especially it looks  _ wrong. _ She looks hungry. She keeps running her fingers over Fenris's jaw and neck and he's leaning into her, his words slurring. Anders has never seen Fenris get this drunk this quickly before. Hell – he's not even sure he's seen Fenris get this drunk at  _ all. _

Part of it is jealousy, he'll admit; he thought Hawke moved on from Fenris now that she and Anders are together. But a big part of it is the feeling that something is wrong. Justice is nudging him, telling him to intervene.

Anders practically jumps to his feet. Everyone else stares at him. “I'm going to head back,” he says. “Should get an early start at the clinic tomorrow.” he looks down at where Fenris and Hawke are half tangled together. “I'll take him back, since I'm heading up to Hightown anyway, so you don't have to worry about him. Stay here, have fun, love,” he tells Hawke, wrapping his arms around Fenris's torso.

Hawke glares at him, but doesn't say anything. Instead she grabs Anders' face and pulls him down to kiss him, hard and rough. Anders stumbles, then catches his feet and kisses her back. Her nails dig into his jaw, pulling him closer. He vaguely wonders how she keeps her nails from breaking, the way she carries a sword.

Hawke pulls back, to the boos of Isabela, and fingers Anders' chin, biting her lip. She's wearing an expression similar to how she was looking at Fenris earlier, but it's directed at Anders now. That seems much more satisfying. Then she says, “Wait up for me, mage,” and giggles.

Maker, that is  _ not _ something that should be attractive. None of Hawke should, and especially nothing about her tonight. Anders... well he hasn't fully moved in, but he spends a lot of time at her estate. He thinks he knows why she keeps lyrium potions there, despite being a warrior. He almost wonders if that's the real reason she courted Fenris before she started seeing Anders.

But if she is, she's a  _ good _ one. She helps Anders, sometimes, even if she didn't stop him from killing that girl. And she hasn't killed him or turned him in, like most of – of them would. He should be grateful for that.

And he is. He's sure of it.

Right?

He can feel Justice disapproving, and the spirit is right. He needs to put that out of his mind so he can help Fenris right now. Anders pulls Fenris to his feet; Fenris stumbles into him. Anders carefully wraps an arm around him to help him keep steady.

They get to Hightown slowly, stopping twice for Fenris to throw up in the alleyways before they reach his mansion. After the second time, Fenris leans his head and hands into anders' chest, almost affectionately. Anders looks at him, concerned by this new behavior. The elf's skin is, as always, cool, but it's clammy and sweaty. His breathing is slow.

Anders decides to get him back as quickly as possible.

Fenris seems to be capable of opening the door, at least, though it's probably a good thing his mansion doesn't have any locks. He tugs Anders in after him, who follows, bewildered by Fenris's sudden affection for him. Is he always like this when he is drunk?

Anders sighs and brings Fenris up into what Anders is pretty sure is Fenris's bedroom. He leans into the mage,  _ nuzzling _ him, and mumbling something Anders can't quite make out. “wh-what was that?”

“Cuddle with me, mage.” his voice is slurred and buried in Anders' neck, so it takes him a minute to puzzle out what Fenris is saying. Anders sighs, and pulls away when he feels Fenris's hand on the buckles on his coat. Fenris whines.

“No.” Anders sighs. “not tonight – Maker, get off me,” he adds as Fenris tries to pull him down onto the bed with the elf.

“Want touch,” he mumbles into Anders' hip. “Just cuddles.”

Justice is screaming in Anders' head not do anything, but Anders tries to ignore it. All the spirit is doing is giving him a headache, and he might need...

He sits down by Fenris, who lifts his head and shoulders to drape them over Anders' lap and rub his face in Anders' coat. If Anders didn't know better he'd swear the elf was  _ smiling. _ “Here, Fenris,” Anders says. “c'mere. Get your armour off.”

Fenris turns over to look up at Anders and – yup, he's smiling. He sets his hand on Anders' shoulder, and Anders picks up the hand and tugs off Fenris' gauntlet. It won't come off, even though he undoes all the buckles he can see. Then Fenris lifts his arm higher and Anders' realises the gauntlet is attached to his pauldron – Maker, who  _ made _ this thing?

It takes them about ten minutes to get both of Fenris' gauntlets and his chestplate off. Then Fenris seats himself on Anders' lap and wraps his arms around Anders' waist, leaning his head against the mage's chest. “heartbeat,” he mutters contentedly. He vibrates against Anders, his purr gradually getting louder. It's deep and loud and broken, not at all like Merrill's purr that comes out in long, quiet strings.

_ Prr-rrr-mrr. Prr-rrr-mrr. Prr-rrr-mrr. _

It's a very comforting, distracting sound. Anders isn't sure he's ever heard it before, and he wishes he'd heard it for the first time in better circumstances. He's delighted that Fenris feels safe enough to purr, but – ugh. He can't stay like this all night, Fenris purring on top of him. Especially not if Fenris hasn't taken his binder off. He's certain Fenris has slept in his binder too many nights already. Anders would try to heal the damage, but Fenris won't let him near his body and Anders isn't even sure how bad the damage is already.

“Fenris,” he says. The elf blinks slowly up at him. In cats that's a symbol of trust. Anders is half sure it is among elves too, but he doesn't want to risk that it's not. “I, um – do you want to take off your – Maker.” he swallows. “Just - please, take off your damn tunic.”

Fenris actually  _ obliges _ , pulling his arms away from Anders to undo his buttons and then toss his tunic by his armour. He goes back to nuzzling Anders, now in just his binder and leggings. “Alright,” Anders says. “now just – there we go,” he finishes as Fenris tugs at his binder. He gets his head caught in it for a moment; Anders helps him out. Then he goes back to curling up on Anders' lap, undoing some of Anders' buttons and purring.

Justice calms a bit, and Anders leans back against the wall tiredly, idly petting Fenris' hair. The elf paws at his wrist, and then falls asleep soon after.

Maker, how did he get himself into this mess?

 

He wakes up to a heavy, tight pain radiating from his chest. He gasps, opening his eyes to see Fenris bent over him, hand in Anders' chest, glaring.

“ _ What did you do to me mage.” _

“I didn't do anything, I swear,” he gasps. “Fenris – don't you think Justice would have stopped me?”

Fenris's glare deepens. “Why should I trust your demon,  _ Mage? _ That demon has already proved itself untrustworthy. Perhaps if you did not kill the very mages you claim to seek to protect, I would take your argument a little more seriously.”

It is at that point that Anders blacks out.

When he comes to, Fenris is sitting across from him, now fully dressed, glaring only slightly as he sharpens his sword.

“Glad to know your demon is gone,” he says.

Anders rubs his forehead. “What did he say?”

Fenris continues sharpening his sword. “Enough.”

“Are – are you planning on using that on Hawke?” if he is, Anders should stop him. Hawke doesn't deserve that. She loves him.

Fenris's grip on the whetstone tightened. “I am unsure yet.”

“Please don't.” it slips out of his mouth automatically, before he can stop it. Anders continues. “I don't – I don't have anyone else, if she dies there's nowhere for me to go, you  _ know _ she's protecting me from the templars, there's nobody else willing to go out of their way for me like that, I'd have to leave Kirkwall.”

Fenris looks at him suspiciously. The next minute his hand darts out and grabs Anders' wrist, pulling up his sleeve. Anders winces. Fenris takes in the bruise there and draws back. “how long?”

“Not long – or often. Just sometimes, in – Maker, I can't talk about that. I ask for it, it's not like she's abusing me, she's not like the other templars. We have a word and everything. But she says – look, it's just a waste to heal myself of minor stuff like that when I can use that magic for the clinic. That's all, I swear.”

Fenris sets down his whetstone. “I will not kill her. For now.” it looks like the next few words are almost painful. “I.. owe you a debt. If Hawke does give you trouble, I will support you.”

“I'll be fine,” Anders assures him. “We love each other.”

Fenris is silent a bit. “you should go, mage. Your clinic and lover await you.”

“I – I'll go. If you need anything -”

“I will let you know, mage.”

 

He gets to the clinic.

When he opens the door, Hawke is standing there, leaning against one of the support pillars. Anders swallows. She must have come looking for him when he didn't go to the estate last night.

She smiles when he walks in, sweet as pie. “Where were you, love? I was worried.” Hawke saunters over and wraps her arms around his neck.

“I was seeing if I could get some supplies for the clinic.” his throat hitches a bit on the lie.

“Really? Tomwise said he hasn't seen you all morning.” she tilts her head, her smile gone.

“Hawke, I –“

“Where were you really?” her voice is blunt.

Anders can tell he won't get away with another lie. He should've constructed one on the way here. He looks down. “I was at Fenris's.”

One of her arms pulls away from Anders' neck to settle on her hip. “There we go. That wasn't so hard for a good little mage like you, was it?” he shakes his head. “What were you doing there?”

“I was making sure he was alright,” whispers Anders.

“What did you just say? Speak up, I couldn't hear you, apostate. Stop mumbling.”

“I was making sure he was alright.”

“Why in the name of Andraste's flaming tits would you need to do that?” says Hawke.

“He was very drunk, he-”

“He's always drunk, Anders,” Hawke dismisses him. “He's a knife ear. And he hates you. He doesn't need your help.”

“He doesn't always get drunk like that, Hawke! He drinks a lot, but he doesn't get that drunk that quickly, I was worried something was wrong-”

_ Smack.  _ The sting of her hand on his cheek quiets Anders. Her nails claw across the skin slightly as she slaps him, leaving his face red and scratched. “Now look at what you've made me do,” she says accusingly. “You owe me, Anders. You said you would be waiting up for me when I got home last night. Instead you decided to spend that time playing nursemaid to a drunken knife-ear. You'll have to pay me back, love.”

“No – you were the one who said that-”

“No,” Hawke interrupts. “You were. I remember you saying it. 'I'll take him to Hightown. You can stay here and have fun, and I'll wait up for you.' that's what you said.”

Did he? He's exhausted and can't remember his exact wording. Maybe he did say it. It seems better to give in, either way. Anders sighs. “Alright. I'll make it up to you Ser,” he says, knowing calling her “Ser” soothes her. “Tonight. I promise.”

Hawke smiles and her eyes look like the sky on a cloudless day. “Good mage.”

That night is great. Anders makes a simple Fereldan dinner that Hawke likes, one of the few things he can make. She drags him up to the bedroom after they eat, and when they're done they lay there wrapped around each other, whispering and giggling to each other. Anders drifts off with his arms wrapped sweatily around Hawke, who's leaning her head against his shoulder, already asleep.

Things stay like that, for awhile at least. Sometimes – occasionally – Hawke gets angry with him or Orana and they have to be careful, but sometimes they can tell when it's coming and how to avoid it.

Hawke takes him whenever she clears out bandits or demons from the areas around Kirkwall. Anders can understand why she wants her healer with her, but it means he hardly has any time for the clinic and his manifesto, never mind checking on Fenris. Anders hasn't seen the elf since the night at the Hanged Man. With so little time, Anders has even taken to skipping Wicked Grace nights. Besides, Hawke likes to be with him all other nights. He knows she doesn't like his manifesto.

There's a loud banging on his door one Wicked Grace evening. Anders has just put out the lantern and is working on his manifesto. It's probably an emergency; maybe a baby's come. He knows Judith should be ready to deliver any day now. Anders shakes himself awake and goes to open the door.

It's Fenris. He's hunched over even more badly than usual, leaning on the door and clutching his side.

“Mage,” he says. He's breathing oddly. “I am having... problems.”

“Problems? You need to elaborate, Fenris.”

“With the...” Fenris gestures at his side, then bangs his fist against the doorway. “Fasta vass, mage! You  _ know _ what I mean! You are the only one who does.”

Anders sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Come in, I'll see what I can do.”

Fenris enters and sits on one of the cots. Anders closes the door.

“I, uh... I need to see it.”

Fenris wrinkles his nose, but removes his tunic. He's not wearing a binder, and Anders winces and drops down to his knees to get a closer look.

“Fenris, two of your ribs are cracked!”

Fenris grunts. “Just fix it, mage.”

Anders sighs. “I can fix it, but it’ll take time and you're going to have to be more careful. How often did you sleep in this thing?”

Fenris mumbles something.

“I couldn't hear you.”

“Venhedis, I said I do not know,” he snaps.

Anders flinches. “I'm sorry. But really, there's only so much I can do, you can't keep up like this forever you know. I'll undo as much as I can, but it's going to take a while.” a thought occurs to him. “you've been wearing it while fighting, haven't you?”

Fenris grunts in an affirmative response.

“Maker, Fenris you really shouldn't be, this probably made it twice as bad!”

“And what do you suggest I do?” Fenris shouts. “I cannot live – with it – not doing that. I have no other options, mage!”

“You can get rid of them entirely, you know,” Anders retorts. “There are ways.”

“All of which involve magic!” Fenris is trembling and Anders is sure he's trying not to cry. “I have looked into such things, mage. Do not think I have not tried.”

“Would you really rather have  _ this _ than try magic, Fenris? You could  _ die _ from this. Your lungs are going to be permanently damaged at least, if you don't get better about doing this safely!”

“I do not care!” Fenris slams his fist down on the cot beside him. The effect is rather diminished by the cot being canvas rather than wood. “Magic has already changed and ruined my body beyond recognition! I cannot risk magic changing it further!”

“Oh, but you can come here when you need it and have me heal you? Changing it with magic, constantly? You're a hypocrite, Fenris! Why'd you even ask for my help?”

Fenris stands angrily. “You were the only one who could have helped me with this! And I do not know why I trusted you, Mage. You have already proven yourself to be weak. Perhaps it is foolish to think you could help me with  _ anything. _ ” He grabs his tunic and storms out, still breathing shallowly.

Anders sinks down on the cot.

He shouldn't have brought it up, but he's a healer. It's in his instinct to make sure  everyone is as healthy as possible. Now he's destroyed any chance of a friendship with Fenris, a friendship Anders was starting to look forward to. He probably ruined any chance of Fenris giving him help with Hawke if he needs it, too. Not that he will need it. But if he  _ were _ to need it it would be nice to have. Someone who supports him, besides Hawke.

Maybe he can make it up to Fenris somehow.

 

He’s still thinking on that when Hawke comes in, slamming the door to his clinic open. Anders jumps, startled at the sound.

“You said you’d be at Wicked Grace tonight,” she says furiously. “Where were…” her voice fades off as she spots Fenris’ armour lying in a heap on the cot where he dropped it earlier. Hawke picks up one of Fenris’ pauldrons and advances toward Anders. Her eyes glare daggers. “What was he doing here?” She demands.

Anders swallows. “He needed healing,” he manages.

“Healing.” Her voice is skeptical. Anders nods desperately. “He needed  _ healing. _ ”

“Yes, Hawke.” Anders’ voice is barely a whisper.

“ _ What did you just say to me?” _

Immediately Anders realises his mistake and stammers, “I - I mean yes Ser. Ser Knight. He needed healing.”

Hawke drops the pauldron and grabs his wrists tightly. ”There’s a good mage. Now tell me,” she coos. “Why did he need healing when I haven’t taken him on any jobs in two months?”

Anders gulps. He doesn’t want to tell Hawke, but she already knows Fenris is what the Dalish call  _ ena’len _ , and he knows she’ll be angry at him for lying. Even so, that’s not his decision to tell her. 

Anders briefly wishes she’d go away, then squashes that thought. He’s glad she’s here. She cares about him. He takes a deep breath. “He - he’s having problems with his binder. With binding his breasts.”

If he thought it would placate her, he’s wrong; her grip on his wrists tightens. “His  _ binder, _ ” she sneers. “So you got to fondle his little lyrium tits in the name of  _ healing _ , did you? You don’t get to touch anyone else, whore. Just me. You understand?”

Justice is screaming, tucked away in the corner Anders keeps for him when he’s around Hawke. Anders nods. His chest feels tight. “I understand, Ser Knight.”

“Good.” she lets go of his wrists; Anders stumbles and slides down the wall behind him. Hawke picks him up by the collar and hauls him onto his knees, facing away from her. He feels the pressure of her boot on his bony spine as she leans over him. “You want me to remind you who you belong to, whore?”

Anders bites his lip and shakes his head. 

“What was that?”

“N-no Ser Knight.” He almost chokes on the words.

“Tell me then. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Ser Knight.”

“Good boy.” She removes her foot from his back. Anders is about to get up when her foot presses back down, this time on his head and neck, forcing his face into the dirt. She leaves it there a moment, then lets him up. “We’re going home, apostate. Pick up his shit. We’ll give it to Orana to take back to him. There’s a good mage.”

They head back to the estate, Anders’ head bowed, Hawke watching him. She orders him to put Fenris’ things down. He does, and she pulls him upstairs.

She blindfolds him.

He feels like he’s floating, barely feels the wooden rod on his skin.

Hawke sleeps deeply as always, her arm wrapped possessively around his waist. Anders can’t see a thing in the dark, and he struggles to find his breath.

After a while, when he’s sure Hawke is asleep, he slips out of her arm. She doesn’t even stir. His hands shake as he brings them to his face. It’s wet. When did that happen? How long has he been crying?

He swallows the lump in his throat. It doesn’t matter. He feels around for his clothes and gets dressed as quietly as possible before slipping out and down to the kitchen. Anders picks up Fenris’ armour from where he laid it on the table, and his eyes fall on the tin of tiny apple tarts Orana made. Orana’s made three tins; she won’t miss it. Besides, Anders always takes food home with him from Hawke’s anyway.

A brief walk later Anders knocks on Fenris' door, his arms full. Fenris opens the door, looking like he's about to kill someone. He’s clearly exhausted and in pain. “ _ What?” _ He growls.

Anders gulps. “You left your armor at the clinic,” he says, holding it out to the elf. “And I got you some food.”

Fenris shifts. “I… apologise for snapping at you earlier. It was… untoward.”

“It was my fault,” Anders admits. “I shouldn’t’ve pushed you. I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologise.”

Fenris watches him, for a moment. “Apology accepted. Ah - would you like to come in?”

“Please.” The words are barely out of Fenris’ mouth before Anders answers him. “If you still want me after what I said.”

Fenris steps aside to let Anders step in. Anders does so. Fenris reaches out and takes the bundle of clothes and food from him.

“Mage,” he says in what Anders thinks is Fenris’ attempt at gentleness. Anders looks at him. “You are shaking.”

Anders looks down at his hands. He clenches them into fists to try to stop the trembling, but it barely helps.

“Would you like something to eat?” Asks Fenris.

Anders nods. “If I can,” he whispers.

“You always can here, Mage.” Fenris sits on one of the unbroken chairs in the foyer and gestures for Anders to join him. Anders does, sitting cautiously in the other chair. Fenris opens up the tin and offers it to Anders.

Anders starts to decline when his stomach loudly reminds him of the last time he ate. It was a small lunch that he shared with a Darktown girl and two kids. He wasn’t sure if they were her offspring or her siblings, and he was a little afraid to ask.

He takes the tart and stuffs it into his mouth, moaning in appreciation of the sweet apple and flaky pastry. Orana has a way with pastries, he’s discovered.

Beside him, Fenris eats a little slower. After he finishes his first one, Anders waits for Fenris to offer the tin again before taking another two.

Anders swallows them both quickly. “Would - would you like for me to try the healing again?”

Fenris keeps very still for so long Anders is scared he did something wrong. Then Fenris nods abruptly. “If you are willing.”

“I’ll probably have to do it in sessions,” Anders tells him. “I’m a healer, Fenris. I won’t turn you away just because I don’t like you.”

Fenris nods and hands Anders another tart.”Now?”

“If you want.”

“I would rather start sooner,” replies Fenris. He starts to undo his tunic. 

Anders sets the tin aside and calls for his magic silently. He edges very slightly closer and waits for Fenris to nod his permission; Fenris does so. Anders carefully lays his hands about an inch above Fenris’ skin and starts.

He starts on the ribs first. That takes time - one of them is close to breaking, and Anders wants to make absolutely sure they’re healed.

He finishes healing them and  he almost falls into Fenris, but catches himself. “I should go. I’m exhausted.”

Fenris nods. “Goodbye, Mage. Next week?”

“Yeah,” Anders says around a yawn. 

The next week, Wicked Grace night never happens. Instead, the city’s on fire, and Hawke somehow manages to stop the Arishok from bringing down the wrath of Par Vollen onto Kirkwall. Two nights after the Qunari leave all of them minus Hawke sit in the Hanged Man, hunched over their drinks, trying to make up for the absence of Isabela. Merrill’s curled up in her chair, sniffling. She’s usually a happy drunk. Tonight she’s burying her face in Varric’s shoulder and wiping her tears on his jacket.

Anders tries to ignore Justice’s nudge about staying sober and gulps more of his Emmy Sal (a cheap, native to Kirkwall beer that frankly tastes like piss, but gets you drunk quickly enough). He’ll need to go back soon. Hawke has been getting more protective over him lately. She’ll be getting concerned, and then she’ll be getting angry.

Merrill sniffs again. 

“She’ll be alright, Daisy,” Varric says.

Fenris snorts.

“B-but-” Merrill wipes her nose. “From the  _ Qunari? _ She can’t get away from them! N-nobody can.”

“She has a point,” says Fenris. “Isabela will likely not escape. She will be taken to Par Vollen, and tried. Then, because the Qunari despise waste, she will be brainwashed and-”

Merrill wails and Anders snaps, “You’re not helping.” he turns to Merrill. “She’ll run off somehow, Merrill. I know Isabela. She’ll get out somehow.”

“And she won’t come back, and I’ll never see her again.” Merrill hiccups. “I won’t know if she’s alright or if - or if…”

“I understand.” Aveline’s voice is surprisingly level. “Listen, Merrill, sooner or later one of the sailors at the docks will know something. When they do, Varric and I will be the first to hear about it, and then you’ll be the second.”

Merrill nods tearfully, rubbing her eyes.

“I’ll keep my ears open,” says Anders hoarsely. “I should get back. It’s late. Things’ll get better.”

They don’t get better. Hawke gets worse - angrier with him every time he leaves the estate without permission, when he uses up his magic at the clinic. She’s right, of course; what  _ will _ he do if he uses up all his mana healing refugees only for Hawke to come in with a mortal wound from a job?

Even so, he needs to help, and whatever it is now that used to be Justice is pushing him as bad as Hawke. He barely sleeps. Fenris is right, Hawke is right, he shouldn’t have merged with Justice.

He sits in his clinic, staring at the deathroot on his desk. Last night he came to scrubbing blood off his coat, and he doesn’t know whose blood it was. What if he killed another mage, like he did when he found Alrik? He rakes his fingers savagely through his hair, pulling several strands out in the process.

Why can’t he do it? He’s a coward. He needed a de - a spirit to be able to take on templars to help other mages. He’s spent his whole life running away from the templars, and now he’s spent three years cowering behind Hawke, using her to protect himself, and he’s not even brave enough to light the pyre already and eat the deathroot. Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward-

“Mage.”

He looks up, turning to see Fenris in the doorway. “Wh-what is it?”

Fenris walks toward him and leans on Anders’ desk. “You are not cowardly for not killing yourself, Anders.”

Anders snorts.

“Truly, Anders.”

“What are you doing here, Fenris?”

Fenris glances down. “You said - I thought you were going to come to my mansion for healing, but ah...you were not there, so I came down to make sure you were alright.” he pauses. “It...seems a good thing I did.”

Anders looks back at the desk and buries his face in his arms. He didn’t realise he was talking out loud. He feels Fenris’s hand press onto his shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly. “I’m sorry,” Anders mumbles. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Anders doesn’t answer for a long time. “I don’t want to move. No. I want to. I can’t.”

“Alright.” a gauntleted hand reaches into Anders’ vision and picks up the deathroot. “I understand. I will get rid of this. Would you like me to go?”

Anders shakes his head. “Don’t burn it.”

“I won’t. I will stay.”

Anders nods.

Fenris walks away, then returns. He lays his hand on Anders’ shoulder again. Anders leans into it. They sit there for a bit. Within a few minutes Fenris starts purring and scoots closer. Anders manages to get closer to Fenris, and eventually fall asleep.

He wakes up on his cot in the clinic. Fenris is beside him on one of the other cots, sitting up and leaning against the wall. When he realises Anders is awake he stops pretending to sleep and opens his eyes and pats Anders on the shoulder. 

“You should go,” Anders chokes out.

“Are you alright for me to go?” Fenris looks concerned.

Anders nods.

“You are sure you will not…”

Anders grabs Fenris’ hand and squeezes it. “Promise.”

“Alright,” Fenris says. “I will go.” he pauses again. “I believe Hawke will wonder where you are.”

She does. A few minutes later Hawke bursts into the clinic, calling for him. Anders grunts at her and she embraces him tightly, whispering about how worried she was. He leans into her happily and kisses her. 

“Where were you?” her eyes are wide in concern. If Anders ever had any doubt whether she loved him it’s gone now. “I was so worried when you didn’t come home, love. Are you alright?”

He nods, leaning into the hands that cup his face. “Fine, love. I was just busy at the clinic, is all. So I slept here. I’m sorry, I should’ve sent a message.”

“Yes, you should have,” she agrees. “But it’s too late to fix that, just do it next time, promise me. You have no idea how worried I was. You need to stop, Anders. Please, baby, don’t make me do things I’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” he replies. Justice whispers something about making promises he can’t keep. Anders ignores it. “I promise, Hawke.” He kisses her gently.

She kisses him back and leans her forehead against his. “Come on,” she whispers. “Let’s go home. We can curl up and I’ll shut Reaver away so he won’t bother us. Just us, and the warm fire, and Orana’s little cookies, and big, giant mugs of tea.”

“Mmm, that sounds tempting.” he leans into her hand, his eyes closing. “The clinic?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hawke kisses him and moves across his jaw and neck. “I’ll send Merrill over. She knows Dalish remedies, you know that. Just this once, Anders. “

Anders gently pulls away from Hawke. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Just this once. Wait ‘til we’re up in your place, Hawke.”

She chuckles and lets him pull away, kissing his hand. “We can take the back passage through the cellar. Won’t have to go through Hightown.”

“Don’t tempt me so much,” Anders growls.

“Why not?” she smiles and kisses his nose, tangling her hands in with his. “Because you’ll want more? Because I will gladly give you more.”

Anders hasn’t seen her look at him like that in ages. Like he’s the sun and stars and everything he’s not and everything she  _ is. _

And she keeps looking at him like that. For the rest of the night, and then for several weeks after. Anders moves his things in, his few ratty clothes and staff and Hawke gives him a key. In case of templars, she says. So he can slip up into the cellar. Or down into Darktown, if need be, and oh, Anders has never loved her as much as he does right now. It looks like he’s never going to have to take up Fenris on his offer after all.

He gets caught up in healing one night, and then in writing his manifesto - or so he thinks. He can’t remember half of what happened after he reluctantly put out the lantern, out of magic, but there’s fifty more pages than there were when he started, in a mix of his and Justice’ handwriting, and he feels like he could write fifty more without stopping for food or sleep. He shakes his head and goes back to writing, his script barely legible in his hurry, when an ivory pale  hand comes into his vision and closes his journal.

He looks up to see Hawke leaning over him, her shadow spreading across his chair and desk. She tilts her head expectantly. “Well?”

Anders’ mind is racing fast, half of it still writing, the other half desperately scrambling for an excuse to give to Hawke. Well, what?

His cluelessness must show plain on his face because Hawke rolls her eyes and grips his chin. “You should be in the estate, whore.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Oh, you’re  _ sorry _ ? Since when did you ever feel regret, abomination, hmm? Does your disgusting little  _ passenger _ even let you feel it any more? It’s plain you don’t regret letting it into your body. You’re nothing but a demon’s whore, Anders.” She lets go of his chin to slap him and grab him by his hair. “Stop letting him take you, and come home with me so I can remind you who you  _ really _ belong to.”

He chews his lip. “I’m sorry, Ser Knight,” he tries to soften the blow. “I can’t, I have so much to  _ do _ , I’ve just started a new volume of my manifesto and I have so much to add-”

She sighs and makes a noise of disgust. “Your fucking manifesto,” she spits. “Manifesto this, manifesto, that. Look, Anders, it’s not good for you. It’s two hours til sunrise. Have you even left that desk since you started writing? Hmm?” he shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought as much. You need me to take care of you, apostate. So come home, like a good little mage, and I’ll take goo-ood care of you.” she smiles at him, the smile she uses before leaping into the fray to slice off a mercenary's head.

He still feels jittery, full of unused energy that could be used productively, still feels like he could do anything. Even so, he consents to go with Hawke. 

By the time Hawke is done and falls asleep he regrets it. He can barely move, shackled by his wrists, his back still stinging from the flogging. He manages to turn onto his side, hoping he won’t bleed on Hawke’s silk sheets, or that if he does she won’t be angry at him for it.

He drifts into a restless sleep, waking every time Hawke stirs beside him. It’s better than  _ that _ year, at least. Those templars didn’t stay. He’s not alone.

He watches her pleadingly as she gets up in the morning, but he knows better than to ask. She smiles at him, runs her fingers through his hair (starting to grey already, and he’s only thirty three) and kisses his cheek like everything is normal. Then she leaves.

He bites his lip and tries not to cry. When Orana doesn’t come up to clean or bring them breakfast he  _ does _ . He keeps his keening low at first for fear Hawke is still in the house and will punish him if she hears him, but then he lets himself get louder, crying out in vain hope that someone will hear and come, and nevermind what they do to him when they get here. 

He'll be left here. Again. He’ll be alone. Hawke doesn’t want him any more, and that’s why she’s left him here. What could a dirt poor apostate hope to give to the mighty Champion of Kirkwall, lord of the Amell line and estate? 

Maybe if he’s good she’ll come back. If he can make her happy when she does she’ll take him into her graces again. 

Yes. That’s it. He sobs himself dry and lays there, thinking of how he’ll convince her, silently sniffling. The door opens quietly - he spares a brief glance towards it, but he knows it’s not Hawke. She never opens anything quietly. She comes into the room with a presence, a heavy one that commands attention. Hawke is more of a bellycut from a steel sword than she is a plague. She can’t sneak up on you. You know when it’s her.

He looks up at Orana. “Please - Messe  -  Anders.” it’s the first time he’s heard her call him by his name, and it brings him rushing back to the present, crashing into his body. Why is she here? She’s trembling terribly, a rag in one hand and a bowl in the other..“I know it will make Mistress angry b-but you were so kind to me when - when I h-had that accident with the kitchen knife. I - I made you some porridge. And I can clean your wounds, if you - if you’d like.”

He lifts his head and nods. He doesn’t feel like speaking right now. 

It should be shameful to be fed from Orana’s hands like an invalid, her lifting the bowl to his lips and tilting it, but he’s too relieved for her company to care. When he’s done with the porridge she sets the bowl aside and Anders turns onto his side as much as he can. He lays there, with her gently cleaning the cuts and markings on his back. Last night’s flogging opened up old scars, both mental and physical. He almost cries from the relief of having someone touch him.

Orana flees after tending to him, and Anders doesn’t blame her. He’d be afraid of Hawke’s wrath in her place too.

It’s just her hands, tonight. No whip, rod, or belt. But those hands are all over him, in places, doing things, that he would normally enjoy, and why doesn’t he tonight? And then it’s not just her hands, but her mouth, and then other parts and Maker, he just wants her to stop, wants her gone but he is so so grateful she’s come back to him.

He’s sobbing silently by the time she’s finished, having worn out his begging what feels like hours or maybe days ago. She looks down at him with a satisfied smile, catching her breath.

“Good mage.” She sounds pleased. “You’re a  _ very _ good pet, abomination. Have we learned our lesson yet?” he nods desperately. “Good.” she undoes the chains that hold him to the  bed frame . His hands are still chained together, still have shackles around his wrists, chafing. He can’t heal. She told him not to.

Hawke eyes him for a  moment then says “This won’t do,” and unlocks the chains keeping his wrists no more than a foot apart. She tosses the chains aside and settles back. “Hold me, abomination.”

He does, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover. She runs her fingers through his hair, petting him, and falls asleep with a smile on her face.

Anders waits until he’s sure she’s asleep and watches her, chewing his lip. Fenris won’t abandon him the way she did. He’s sure of it. But if he goes to Fenris then she’ll be angry. She’ll leave him again, maybe forever. Anders doesn’t like being beaten, but he’ll take it over being alone.

But Fenris wouldn’t beat him. Would he?

Anders whispers an apology to Hawke and another to Orana and slips out of bed as quietly as he can, trying to get his coat on. He can’t put anything else on, barely manages that without crying out in pain and waking her.

Shaking, he stumbles through Hightown as quickly as he can and stands in front of Fenris’s door for several minutes before taking the plunge. He opens it.

It’s dark. Fenris is probably asleep. Why did Anders think this was a good idea?

Then, in all of a rush, there’s a silvery blue blur coming at him and a blade at his throat. He can barely remember how to breathe. It takes him several seconds to realise that the silvery lines of light are actually Fenris. In a moment the sword disappears.

“Mage?”

“I - I’m sorry, Fenris,” he says. “I-I just - I need a place to stay. For the night. Please?” 

Fenris nods. “Of course. Will… you say for the night. You would return in the morning?”

“I have to,” Anders whispers. “I’m sorry, if you don’t want me here I-”

“No,” Fenris interrupts. “Stay. Is there anything else you need?”

“I….” Anders pauses. He can’t remember the last time someone asked him what he needed. “I don’t know. I...I’ll have to go before she wakes up. Dawn would be good. And… I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I-”

“Anders.” Fenris offers his hand. “It is fine. I understand. Would you like, ah, something to eat? I… I do not have much to eat, but....” he gestures vaguely. 

Anders nods.

“You may sit, if you like. I will fetch food.”

Anders sits, leaning on the arm of the chair so as not to put pressure on his back.

Fenris returns. Anders eats the bread and cold sausage gratefully. Fenris watches him. 

“You are in pain.”

Anders winces. “S’nothing.”

Fenris sits. “It is not nothing. I can tell, mage. You should heal yourself.”

“Can’t,” Anders mumbles.

“Mage,” Fenris says. Anders looks at him. He looks worried. It’s strange, seeing someone worried for him. The last person who did that besides Hawke was Nathaniel, or maybe Commander Mahariel. He can’t really remember.

“I can’t,” Anders repeats. ”She told me not to.”

Fenris sighs very quietly and nods. “I understand. Do you need bandages?”

Anders chews his lip and reluctantly nods. He’s sure Hawke will be angry for that, but he does need them.

Fenris finds bandages, made from old sheets Anders would guess. Anders pulls his arms out of his coat and lets it fall around his waist. He quietly directs Fenris how to help him wrap the bandages over his back. When he’s done, Anders pulls his coat back up and wraps it around himself, avoiding Fenris’s gaze.

“Would you like anything else? To wash your face perhaps, or a drink? A blanket?”

Anders shakes his head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Alright. I have several spare rooms.” Fenris gestures for Anders to follow him. Anders does so.

He can’t bear the thought of sleeping on another bed as soft as Hawke’s, so he takes the bedding and curls up on the floor. Fenris doesn’t say anything. 

He wakes up in the morning, early as ever, a little after dawn. Fenris is leaning against the wall beside him, his hand on Anders’ hair. He’s very easy on the eyes like this, asleep with sunlight threading through his pale hair and onto his brown skin. Anders likes that skin. The color calls to mind the ground near Amaranthine and other parts of Ferelden. Whenever Anders saw that ground it reminded him that he was free; there was nothing quite that shade in Kinloch. The soil around Lake Calenhad was redder and lighter, more clay than dirt. He smiles.

Fenris opens his eyes, looking at him. “You are awake.” his voice is lower and rougher than usual, being in the morning.

Anders nods.

“I suppose you would have to leave soon. Would you like something to eat before you go?” 

Anders nods again. “Sorry for being a bother. I just - I don’t know if she’ll feed me.”

Fenris’s eye twitches. “Alright.” he lifts himself off the ground. “I would show you to the kitchen.”

He goes to the kitchen. Anders follows. Fenris gets out a pan and some eggs and lights the stove. 

“If you want help-”

“No,” Fenris brushes him off. “I’m fine.” he cracks and fries the eggs, then shuffles around a few minutes to find plates. They sit there and eat. The eggs taste a bit burnt, but they’re alright. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Fenris looks at him. 

“Helping me,” Anders elaborates. “I’m a lost cause. You can’t help me. I’m not - I don’t even know if I’m Anders any more, if I’m just Justice, and he’s not Justice any more either. I was so  _ stupid, _ thinking I c-could do this, could hold onto him. I deserve to die, for changing him like this. For corrupting him. All he wants is vengeance now, and I’m afraid it’s all  _ I _ ever wanted, too. I deserve Hawke.” He can barely finish his speech, it’s so hard to talk, but it’s all true.

Fenris cups Anders’ face in his hands and looks him straight in the eye.. “You do not deserve this.” his voice is hard. “Nobody deserves this. It does not matter what you or your… companion has done. You do not deserve to be beaten by someone you love.” Fenris pauses. “Do you wish for my help?”

Anders nods. “I can’t remember half of what I’ve been doing. He’s been taking me more lately, and I’m scared. If Hawke finds out I can’t control him she-” his voice breaks. “She - she’ll….”

Fenris seems to understand. “Do you wish to leave her? Are you ready?”

Anders takes a deep, shaky breath and shakes his head. “N-no. I can’t. Not yet. I..I’m scared. Of her. But I still love her. And - Justice…”

“You are afraid of what he might do?” Anders nods desperately. “Do you wish to rid yourself of him?” Anders chews his lip and nods slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispers. “Beyond the obvious.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Fenris assures him. “We will find a way to keep you safe, and we will rid you of the - of Justice, if you so wish it.”

Anders has been fighting back tears for awhile now, and he can’t resist any longer. He pitches himself forward into Fenris’s chest, sobbing, great keening sobs rolling out of him and tears soaking both his face and Fenris’s chest. Fenris just sits there, arms around Anders, and he feels so  _ gentle _ . 

He calms down, after several minutes of crying. He goes to the clinic, delivers a baby, heals a four year old with scarlet fever, six people, elderly and young, of various lung problems from living in Darktown, ten mining injuries (Hawke will need to shut that place down again soon, the miners say there’s another dragon), two broken arms in the city guards, and four more in the Carta, and three cases of food poisoning. He collapses onto the wall as he puts out his lantern, and wakes up with his manifesto in front of him, covered in Justice’s frenzied writing.

He goes back to Hawke. She dotes on him tonight, but the illusion’s been shattered. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this, but it’s even scarier not to. He slips out like he did last night, and sleeps at Fenris’s. 

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. The room is so small, and dark, and there’s nobody there but him, not even a Templar guard outside his cell, but in seconds that silver-blue figure is beside him, setting down his sword and touching Anders’ face. He’s not in the Circle. He’s in Kirkwall. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. 

He reaches out for Fenris, silently begging him to stay with his hands and face. Fenris stays.

They fall into a pattern. Anders heals or accompanies Hawke on missions during the day, and goes to Hawke’s in the evening. Then he slips away to Fenris’s. Sleeps there, and usually has nightmares and wakes to Fenris beside him, sometimes eats breakfast with the elf.

Hawke gets worse and better, and sometimes when she’s better Anders doesn’t go to Fenris’ - and sometimes when she’s worse he’s too afraid to. He tries to go through the books in Fenris’s mansion to see if there’s anything about spirit possession, but Justice takes him over until he becomes more  _ productive _ with his time.

Somehow, Anders realises he’s been with HAwke for three and a half years. Three years almost exactly since the Qunari left.

Hawke comes home one evening and hangs up her sword, unused. Her armour is completely clean of the blood it usually has when she returns from missions. She shakes her long bleached hair out of the bun she wears it in for missions, grinning.  It falls around her face elegantly, still tied back but cascading over her shoulders. “Well,  _ that _ was a relief,” she says. “Didn’t get to kill anything, but there’s always tonight. Good news for  _ you _ , apostate. He’s gone.”

“Who - who’s gone?” Even as he says it Anders knows the answer.

“The knife ear, whore,” she replies, still grinning like a maniac. “No more arguments from you, right? He’s going back to Tevinter.”

“He - he wouldn’t-”

“I sold him.” It’s unsettling to see her so calm while talking about selling Anders’ friend into slavery. “Danarius showed up. He wanted him, we didn’t. I’ve been thinking about some revenge for leaving me. Nobody does that, apostate. Nobody.”

He can’t do much more after that.

Hawke gets worse, and Justice gets worse, and Anders feels like he’s slowly drowning in his life. He doesn’t know most of what he’s done by now, and he has no idea what Justice is planning, but he knows it isn’t good.

He realises it too late. 

The chantry explodes. He can’t do anything but take the blame for Justice.

Hawke has a knife.

Sharp, twisting pain.

Wailing of Justice.

Blackness. Stillness. Is this death? 

Arms under him, scooping him up. Holding him close. Movement. He’s being carried.

Darkness again. Then voices. He thinks he recognises one of them.

“You can heal him?”

“The demon’s given him a good start.”

“Then why hasn’t he waken up?”

“Demon’s gone.”

“Demons do not simply leave.” That one sounds familiar, too.

“You think you know more than I do, Vint? It’s gone. Used itself up, or figured he was dead and ran off.”

“Why? They possess corpses just fine. I’ve fought too many of them.”

He fades again.

Eventually, he wakes up. 

There’s a swaying sensation around him, though the room stays steady as he - Anders -  opens his eyes. His head feels empty without Justice. It’s almost lonely, but he’s glad to know he’s gone. 

Someone’s holding his hand tightly. They gasp and lean over him as they see him waking. 

“Anders.” it’s Fenris. “You are alright.”

Anders lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and nods, smiling. Fenris lets go of his hand and wraps his arms around Anders’ shoulders tightly, then pulls away, looking for all the world like he’s seeing the love of his life come back from the dead. He takes Anders’ hand again, holding it tightly, kissing the knuckles,  _ crying, _ and Anders is crying too and there are a million things going through his mind but the first and  foremos t is that if he’s alive then he is so, so glad to be with Fenris instead of Hawke.

And then he does something which he knows is probably very foolish and takes Fenris’s cheek in his hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position to kiss the elf. He expects Fenris to pull away, but he leans in, kisses Anders back, and clings to him. They pull up for breath, laughing, and then Fenris kisses him again, and it occurs to Anders that maybe his assessment of Fenrisface was accurate.

“How?” Anders whispers. “You - you were...she said….”

“She did,” Fenris replies quietly, entwining their hands. “Isabela. Couldn’t resist a rich Tevinter ship, could she?”

Anders stares at him for a moment, processing his words, and then laughs and wraps his free arm tightly around the elf. “I thought - I thought you were…”

“I know.” Fenris’s voice is muffled in Anders neck. “We thought you were dead. That you would not wake up.”

“We?”

Fenris pulls away and Anders looks around the rest of the tiny room. It’s barely enough room to stretch in, and by the door, on a low stool, sits a Dalish woman with long reddish brown hair. She’s changed a lot - she’s older now, looks much older than the seven years it’s been, and she wears plain leather of a deep grey instead of the silver uniform but that could only be - 

“Commander!” Anders scrambles to sit up, then gasps in pain as he does so.

“Not any more, recruit.” She stands and throws the knife in her hand hard into the wall. “Don’t worry. We’re going after Hawke.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be at least two sequels.


End file.
